


Sting

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 11:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14331234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Maybe Prompto’s not alpha enough.





	Sting

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Prompto is an alpha but due to what was done to him as a baby he can't rut and since he can't rut he can't do a proper bond-bite either. He worries this makes him inadequate as a partner” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9589899#cmt9589899).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Noctis is sticky with sweat and other things, warm skin almost feverish yet clammy, but Prompto mouths at it anyway. He doesn’t mind the raw, salty taste, and at times like this, with Noctis wrecking havoc on his hormones, Prompto likes to have his jaw stretched open and stuffed full. He gnaws at the back of Noctis’ neck in a sort of bleary, dull hunger. Noctis reeks of filth and sex. Prompto really, _really_ wants him.

Prompto’s had him, taken him over just about every surface in the room, a few in the living room, once in the kitchen bent along the counter, even ridden Noctis in the middle of the floor like a pair of witless animals. But only Noctis is _really_ there, stripped away to base instincts alone. Prompto’s just a horny young man with a healthy sex drive and pills to supplement the downtime. _He_ doesn’t go into wild, insatiable heats. But he doesn’t go into ruts either, even though Noctis assures him that he smells like _all pure alpha._

The doctor said that too, reassuring Prompto that he wasn’t _completely_ abnormal. Just a little. Just enough. Right where it counts. He knows it probably has something to do with the sort of cruel experiments that simmer in the dark recesses of his memory, popping up here and there in particularly vivid nightmares. It’s probably for the same reason he has a barcode on his wrist. But he wouldn’t let the doctor probe any further into that. Not even the ultra-discreet, ultra-expensive one that Noctis hired. Noctis shifts in his arms, squirming for a moment, arching back against his chest and up into his mouth. Prompto bites a little harder. Noctis whines.

Noctis has been slipping in and out of consciousness for a little while, as he often does at the tail end of a vicious heat. It’s probably for the best. Prompto thinks even a _normal_ alpha would have trouble keeping up with Noctis in the thick of things, pills or no. It doesn’t matter that Noctis is a lazy cat afterwards. Prompto mouths at him, both forlornly and adoring. 

Another short nip, and Noctis stirs again, groaning and tossing back. His naked body slides over Prompto’s, and everywhere they touch erupts in new sparks—the lush curves of Noctis’ rear against Prompto’s limp shaft, the back of Noctis’ legs against Prompto’s sensitive thighs, the ends of Noctis’ curled toes along Prompto’s calves and shins. Prompto pushes the rumpled blanket down past their shoulders. The lights are out, and they really should be sleeping. Spooning Noctis is never safe. Noctis can sleep for days, but when he can’t _quite_ get there, he’s a ball of indescribable temptation. Even though Prompto’s already exhausted. He wraps his arms tighter around Noctis’ middle and buries himself in Noctis’ neck, filling his tongue with the tantalizing taste of the mate he can’t quite mark.

Noctis mutters, thick and drowsy, “What’re you doing?” Prompto’s mouth is too full to answer; he just licks at Noctis’ captured flesh. Noctis makes a snorting noise and hums, “...Tickles...”

When Prompto does let go, he means to say sorry and kiss away the hickey. Instead he winds up mumbling, “’M trying to mark my omega.” His voice comes out more bitter than he wants it to. He never wants to burden Noctis with his insecurities, especially because Noctis is always perfectly comfortable in his own beautiful skin and doesn’t need the weight of a broken loser.

Noctis is probably too dazed to deal with any of that, so he just writhes in Prompto’s arms, stretching out and settling back in. He murmurs around a yawn, “’Think I’m bruised enough.” 

He probably is. His entire body is littered in teeth and finger-marks, just like Prompto’s. But that’s not _the same._. Prompto quietly elaborates, “...Mark with a bond-bite...”

Noctis stills. Prompto instantly wants to take it back. It seems foolish as foolish to remind Noctis of his inadequacies as it is to bother Noctis with his self-doubts. But it’s too late for that, and Noctis shuffles awkwardly around, rolling over as best he can within the confines of Prompto’s grip. Somehow, Prompto can’t bring himself to let go.

He still holds on when Noctis is facing him, the two of them nose-to-nose on the same pillow and tucked under the same blanket. Through the darkness all around them, Prompto can just make out the faint glimmer in Noctis’ eyes. Better yet, he can feel the ghost of Noctis’ breath when Noctis says, “You know I don’t care about that, right?”

Prompto wrinkles his nose. He knows Noctis can’t see it. He counters quietly, “Anyone would care about getting saddled with someone impotent in the bonding department...”

“Well, I don’t.” He sounds like he means it. Noctis has always been stubborn.

For all Prompto knows, everyone else in Noctis’ life would throw a fit if they knew the real reason he and Noctis aren’t truly _bonded_ yet. Although, maybe they’d be relieved he couldn’t wind up bound to some common nobody.

If Prompto said any of that out loud, Noctis would tell him to shut up and kiss it better. So Prompto just stays silent. Noctis seems to read him anyway and leans in to nuzzle him, offering both support and palpable love. Prompto can feel Noctis’ affection in every little lick and butterfly kiss that gets scattered around Prompto’s face. Noctis wraps around Prompto with the ferocity of an alpha, of a _king_. He catches Prompto in a kiss and whispers, “I love you,” then again with a peck to his cheek, then again with a lick over his throat. Noctis repeats it and showers Prompto in so much ardour that Prompto can’t stop a little smile. It cracks at the corner of his lips, and Noctis kisses it wider. 

Eventually, Prompto’s nuzzling back. They cuddle like lost kittens finding solace in each other’s fuzzy hides.

By the time that Noctis starts to drift off again, Prompto can handle that. He feels too _loved_ to be anything but serenely content. He watches Noctis fall into pleasant dreams and knows that he’s blessed.


End file.
